Barking Mad

Because Mother Nature Was Feeling Generous ...

...and brought with her usual (and annoying) monthly gift, a volcano!   And can you guess where she placed it?  Anyone? 

On my face. 

Along with the monthly reminder that I'm still nowhere near close to getting rid of the curse, she, Mother Nature, Aunt Flo; whatever you want to call her, placed an active volcano - one which is ready to erupt, ON MY FACE!  This wouldn't be a huge deal because she does this a few times a year.  Except then, they are those invisible-but-utterly-painful zits that you know are there, you can feel, and are aware of, but when you try and point it out to anyone else, they think you're delusional.   This time not only does Mt. Vesuvius hurt like a motherf something really bad, I'm pretty sure the entire North American continent can see it. 

If you've been experiencing cooler than normal temperatures, or perhaps there was an occasional blotting out of the sun...never fear, it's only the emergence of Mt. Vesuvius on my face.  My 41 year old face.  Come on Mother Nature, aren't we getting a little old for this?  This thing is so huge that I wouldn't be surprised if Al Gore called a nationally televised press conference to announce that due to global warming, the earth had now shifted off it's axis.  Nope, Mr. Gore, it's simply the Mother-of-all-Zits on my face. 

Small children and animals can be seen running from the monstrosity on my face.  Gaby has told me repeatedly that my zit is going to give her "scary dreams...make it go away mommy!"   Well darling, I hate to tell you this, but there isn't enough benzoil peroxide on the planet to get rid of what's probably going to end up taking over my entire face.

I should have known this month was going to be a little worse than most because there was this seagull at the beach over the weekend that was bound and determined to completely piss me off. He was just standing around, starting at me.

Just look at those beady little eyes, just boring holes through me.  I tell you, it was creepy.  If Hitchcock was still alive he could have penned the script for a follow up to "The Birds"...and called it, "The Gulls." 

Everytime I'd move my lens to focus on something cool, like my kid playing in the surf, or the shoreline, he'd casually angle himself right into the frame and just stare at me.  He stared to really creep me out a bit, too.  So I named him Damien.  I should have known that he was an Omen of Mother Nature's sick sense of humor!

I moved to one side and he hopped over to the same side...

I moved, and he moved as well.

He just stood there the entire time.  I spent close to an hour trying to capture something interesting, and during that time, he managed to get himself into almost every shot.  He even tried to steal the scene from Gaby as she ran along the shore...

For a good five minutes, he flew directly overhead as she ran to and fro.  I was beginning to worry that he'd poop on her as retribution for me calling him nasty names and tossing some driftwood at him to get him out of my line of sight.   Thankfully he didn't resort to relieving himself on my frolicking little girl.

Damien eventually made his way back towards my encampment on the beach but this time he wasn't alone.  He brought a couple of his evil friends (if you haven't already gotten the hint, I hate birds.  They utterly terrify me!), with him...Beelzebub and Lucifer. 

There they stood for more than 45 minutes, staring at me, and then when I'd turn my lens on them, they'd look the other way.   It's almost as if they were taunting me...teasing me, and tempting me to throw something at them again.  But, I didn't.  I know better than to truly tempt fate.  Otherwise I might have ended up with not only Mt. Vesuvius on my face, but his American cousin, Mt. St. Helens!

Anyhow, due to the volcanic eruption on my face, I'm too lazy to come up with an interesting post today.    Not only that but am I the only one who gets completely turned around when we have a long weekend?  I woke up this morning not entirely sure what day of the week it was.  To be honest, I'm still not sure what day it is.   Whatever day tomorrow does end up being, I'll post more photos from this weekend, sans Damien and his cronies.

Sometimes the Emotional Weight is Heavier Than the Physical Weight

This past weekend in Maine opened up a huge chasm of financial uncertainty in our lives that has left me feeling desperate and like there is no way out of this mess.     Despite the fact that we played equally as hard (for us that means going to the beach and letting Gaby run wild, something she LOVES to do!) as we worked, and had one of the most amazing weekends in such a long time, at the end of those three days, we were faced with the grim reality of the ominous foreclosure process.  As we inch closer and closer to the bank swallowing the house back up, we realize we have less and less time to get things out of there.   We were also hit with several other dire issues that are likely to make trying to get things out the house before we no longer have access to it, very difficult.  

We got home and I just felt incredibly empty, even though for all intents and purposes, we had a good time and we got a lot done, and probably made the people at Goodwill very very happy!  I won't go into how inconsolable Gaby has been since we got back home...just know that no matter what I suggest in order to get her mind off of Maine and on to things we can do around here to have fun, she's not having any of it.   

During a quiet spell today I sat down and let the tears flow.  I had a pity party.  I wasn't thrilled that I allowed myself to wallow around in a huge vat of misery, but just the same, I did.   I think I looked back on the time when we were still in Maine, right after Gareth lost his job and I pulled it together and knew exactly what had to be done and I did it.  I had a few minutes of panic and a little meltdown but I pulled it together and made sure I was emotionally and physically available for my husband - who was in shock, and for my kids who were now faced with the uncertainty of what was going to happen to us.  

So why I can't I do that now, when Gareth is employed and things aren't quite as grim?  Have I just gotten to the point where I can't squeeze anything more out of my "faith" that was the size of a mustard seed?  Where is the spirit that I seemed to possess that told me if we got through that, we could get through anything?  Why am I feeling so completely overwhelmed by everything now? More than anything, I'm feeling the weight of the guilt, the burden of knowing that it was mostly my own shortcomings that led to where we are now...struggling to fit in amongst people that are [so far] unreceptive to us,  losing ground financially, and because of my inability to cope with the trauma associated with one of the most horrific events of my recent past (the "Very Bad Thing"); caused us to accumulate horrendous debt and lose our house. 

I know I know...Gareth lost his job and in a word, the economy in Maine, sucks, right now.  However, had I been a stronger person and not totally fallen apart, been able to cope with the crisis that one of my children went through, and just been an all-around more mentally and healthy person; I can't help but feel like we would have been in a better position to handle what life dealt us.

I am beside myself with the knowledge that my husband, who sold his home in the U.K.,  left his home country, a good job,  and came over here to start a life with me and raise a family (part of which includes being an absolutely spectacular step-father to three children, who at times, have been a challenge),  may never be able to buy another home here in the U.S., in no small part, because of me.   Then there's the eating that associated with all of this.  I eat to bury the pain of everything that has happened, to assuage the feelings of guilt for what is happening, and to comfort me because I'm aware of what's going to happen.  All of this eating isn't cheap either...so let's just heap on another plateful of guilt.  It's what's for dinner!

In my struggle to get rid of all of this physical weight, I'm beginning to realize that the greater war which will be waged will be the one to get rid of the emotional weight that weighs me down.  Maybe if I had a little more faith that I could win that battle, I'd have more faith that I could defeat the physical weight too.   And just maybe, maybe everything else in my life wouldn't seem so insurmountable.

 

Laboring Away the Labor Day Weekend

 

I bet you'll never guess where we're going this weekend!  Oh come on, give it a try...

What?  What's that you said?  Maine?  Geez.  I guess I'm pretty transparent!

We decided to empty out our piggy banks, scrape all the loose change from underneath the sofa cushions, car seats, and out from the dryer vent, and get then get back over there and make a concerted effort to get rid of as much stuff as possible.   Oh sure, I'm just overjoyed to be busting my super-sized butt over a holiday weekend, but it's in Maine and that makes it all worthwhile.  Plus, we're also going to be camping out.  At the house.  With no electricity.  And no hot water.  But hey, the BBQ is still there and combine that with a cooler full of fresh veggies and fruit!  I'm pretty sure we'll somehow get by.  

Gaby somehow got the impression we were "tent camping" this weekend but if she knew my history with tents, she'd quickly agree that is probably one of the worst ideas...ever!  I don't get along with tents.  Ask anyone who knows me.   It's not an issue of not liking camping in a tent; it is an issue of getting to the point where you can camp in the tent, i.e., putting the tent up!  You could give me instructions so simple that a toddler could assemble a tent and I still would not be able to put it together.  I'm much better at organizing things that will go into the tent, once it's ready for occupancy.   I can clear a camp site of pine needles like no ones business.  Just do not, I beg of you, ask me, or make the mistake of assuming I am capable of, putting a tent together.   It always ends badly.

I'll let you in on another little secret.  It's been more than 15 years since I've been on a genuine camping trip.  If there's anything I feel bad about when it comes to my first marriage, it's the fact that my poor ex-husband had to find that out, the hard way, in the middle of the night after we'd driven more than 10 straight hours to get to the middle-of-nowhere in the Idaho mountains, that as badly as I wanted to go camping and was so excited for that trip, that I had no earthly clue how to assemble a stupid tent!  Besides, I had two 3-year-olds and a 9-month-old that I was trying to look after.  

It was pitch black when we got to the camp site and after two hours of trying to get me to see the logic in putting the tent together, he gave up.  Mercifully, for him, our best friends, Mike and Bobbie, were also there.  Mike came over with a beer and a hammer, and Bobbie brought me a margarita and some tissues.  The margarita was for my nerves and the tissues were for the fact that I had started to sob when I realized that my complete inability to help put up a tent (in my defense, it was dark in them thar deep woods of Northern Idaho!) may very well mean we'd be sleeping on the ground, or in the car!

After all that work, and with the help of our friends, we spent all of two hours in the tent when I realized it was far too cold for the kids or me, and we went and slept in the car!

Despite the lack of a tent, or truly being outdoors this time around, we will, for all intents and purposes, be camping.  And ya know?  I'm OK with that.  We'll be in Maine emptying out our house and transitioning toward the moment when the bank will come swallow it up.  But I'm not going to spend this weekend focusing on that.  I'll be where my heart considers home, with my family and I'm going to enjoy it. 

And I'm going to rejoice that I don't have to put up a tent!